


Something Terrible

by s_a_m



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Getting Together, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-24
Updated: 2016-02-24
Packaged: 2018-05-23 01:16:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6100066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/s_a_m/pseuds/s_a_m
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Something terrible is happening and Quentin doesn’t know if he can stop it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Something Terrible

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this in four hours. I'm sure there are mistakes, I'll try to fix them later. I'm posting this ten minuets before I need to be out the door for work.
> 
> This is for you, my dearest friend. I love you even though your headcanons inspire me and make me run late.
> 
> Best,  
> s_a_m
> 
> Update: I think I got most of the errors. Let me know if you catch something.  
> Best,  
> s_a_m

Something is happening.

Quentin is tucked in a corner, beer glass in his hand, shaking from head to foot.

Something terrible is happening.

The party is raging hard now, loud music and boisterous magicians all a swirling, chaotic mess.

Something terrible is happening and Quentin doesn’t know if he can stop it.

Just off center of the party, by the window, Eliot is standing, sunlight bouncing off his dark curls and his bright eyes. His head is thrown back, lips red and wet, mouth panting, open.

Something is thundering through him and he can’t make it stop.

Attached to Eliot’s neck by means of his mouth is a man with a squash nose and flabby jowls. Eliot’s neck is a mass of purple.

Something like jealous rage is pounding in Quentin’s heart at the sight. And he can’t make it stop. He can’t look away.

He finishes his beer. Goes back to his room. Curls up on his bed.

Closing his eyes and hiding his head under his pillow doesn’t make it all go away.

He’s so fucked.

 

*

 

Eliot was his first at Breakbills; the first person he saw, the first person to listen to him, the first to be his friend.

Quentin liked Eliot. Who wouldn’t? Loud and bright and full of humor. Obnoxious in a way that was always endurable or endearing. Perfectly willing to help. Free with his time, with his knowledge, with his person.

He’d been ignoring the rumors about Eliot, up until now. The ones that made it clear anyone, man or woman, could have Eliot in their bed if they wanted- or on the floor or against a wall or over a sofa. Quentin never saw any of it. He knew, more than most, how one incident could be expanded and multiplied until the rumors barely resembled the truth at all. How that could hurt.

If Eliot knew what some people said about him (and with a friend like Margo, Quentin was reasonably sure he did) he never let it show.

So, yeah.

Eliot was a great guy, a good friend and so fucking far out of Quentin’s league he wasn’t even sure why he was even bothering to think about it.

Get a grip, he told himself. You did this with Julia. You got over her, you can get over him.

 

*

 

“I’m not even gay,” Quentin said out loud to himself the next day as he walked to class.

“Yeah. Right.” Penny, ever the asshole, scoffed at him and shoved him out of the way to pass by.

 

*

 

Before the party, hanging out with Eliot had been awesome.

They would sit (and often drink) shoulder to shoulder and just… shoot the shit. Tell stories, talk about classes, gossip as bad as Margo did. Maybe do some homework together. Practice some spells. Rip on each other.

Once, Quentin even let Eliot take him shopping and choose all his clothes. He was uncomfortable, by the end, but he looked damned good. It had felt nice, he realized in retrospect, to be under Eliot’s scrutiny, to have him pushing Quentin this way and that as he modeled the clothes for Eliot. He had stood taller, shoulders back, _preening_ under his attention.

Christ, he’d been obvious even before he had known it himself.

How typically embarrassing. Can he not fill every criteria of the ‘shy school boy with a crush’ stereotype?  

After the party, spending time with Eliot was sweet agony.

Everything he said was more important, every joke funnier than before, every story a treasure to remember.

Every touch made his skin burn. Every smile cut his heart. Every moment of eye contact made him breathless.

It was sickening. And addictive.

He liked Eliot as a friend. They lived in the same house. He couldn’t have avoided the man even if he really wanted to.

So he sucked it up, put his big boy pants on and buried it deep.

No one needed to know.

 

*

 

“Is something going on with you and Eliot?” Alice asked, head tilted to one side, sharp eyes inquisitive.

“What?” Quentin’s heart was pounding.

“It’s not anything big,” Alice backpedals a little, “But you’ve been a little… distant with him lately.”

“Oh. Um. Oh.” Quentin lets his eyes roam, looking for an answer, “I – It’s nothing. I guess, I mean, I don’t really know what you’re talking about.”

Alice considered this for a long moment, eyes narrowed. “If there was something, would you talk to me about it?” She said at last. “I’m your friend. We’ve shared secrets naked together. I’m pretty sure I could handle it.”

“Yeah. Absolutely. If there’s ever anything, I’ll come to you.” Quentin swallows hard, “Say, you know that assignment from Tuesday? Where do we find the table of lost elements we need for it?”    

Alice lifted an eyebrow but she let the subject change easily enough.

 

*

 

“Q, darling.” Eliot tucked his hand into Quentin’s elbow and turned them off the path Quentin had been following back to their house.

“Eliot.” Quentin followed easily enough.

“It’s warm. It’s gorgeous. And you are sad, sad pasty boy. Swimming is a must.”

“Um. What?” Quentin’s mind is filled with visions of Eliot’s bare chest.

“Swimming; the act or sport of moving through the water by the use of ones limbs. You have heard of swimming before haven’t you?” Eliot cast him a sideways glance, the one that said, ‘oh, you poor unfortunate soul of lackluster social living, please don’t tell me you haven’t.’

It makes Quentin grin.

“Yes. Swimming. The thing with water and fun. I think I heard about it once. But then I had a book to read so I ignored it.”

Eliot’s hand collided with his chest, his mouth popped open and the most perfect sound of complete shock and indignation came out of his mouth. The round ‘o’ of his lips made Quentin’s member throb.

God! He was turning into a trashy romance character. He hoped for just one moment that it never devolved to the point where he started talking about _pulsing manhood’s_ in his journal. Then he grinned at Eliot and said, “Swimming. Where is it and where do I get a swimsuit?”

“Oh, Quentin,” Eliot shook his head in mock admonishment. “Swimsuits? Where’s the fun in that?”

Quentin stopped dead.

“I am not skinny dipping.” He said.

“Don’t think of it like that, think of it like-”

“Eliot.”

Something in his voice made the taller man stop and look down at him, the mocking humor in his face gone and replaced with that carefully neutral expression he got when he was engaging in a particularly delicate and emotional conversation.

“I’m not skinny dipping.” He said again. His lips twisted. He _was_ a pasty boy, and he was a little saggy in the waist from all the sitting and studying he’d been doing lately. It didn’t matter that he was trying to get over Eliot. He couldn’t have handled baring himself to the man, never mind looking at him; his cock was just too damn eager.

“No skinny dipping.” Eliot sighed, returning to his usual dramatic self. “You take all the fun out of life. Fine, the nudity was mandatory, so I guess I have to un-invite you. How loathsome.” He disentangled his hand from Quentin’s elbow and departed.

Quentin stood there by himself, watching Eliot walk away from him, feeling like the world’s biggest asshole.

“Quit mopping!” Penny yelled at him from across the quad.

“Fuck off!” Quentin hollered back.

Kady laughed.

 

*

 

“What is this?” Eliot dropped into a chair next to Quentin and crossed his legs, pulling a cigarette out of its pack.

Quentin used his presence as an excuse to take a break. He lowered his body to the ground and lay flat, chest heaving with exertion.

“Combating beer belly.” He gasped.

Eliot lit his cigarette and considered the statement. “Shouldn’t you be doing sit ups for that?”

“Sit ups are bad for your back. Pushups are the next best thing. Don’t need equipment for them.”

“I see.” Eliot said and smoked for a long moment. “What’s her name?”

“What?” Quentin rolled over and glared up at Eliot. He was sweaty and hot and aching after only a few days of trying to establish a routine; not in the mood for bullshit, even from Eliot.

“The girl,” Eliot rolled the vowel and curled his lip in a haughty sneer. “The one who’s got you worried about a little thickness in the waist. Is it Alice? Did you finally notice she was hot?”

“Eliot.” Quentin put his hands over his eyes. He did not want to be having this conversation. This was a terrible time to be having a conversation like this. But Eliot was his friend. His guy friend. This was something guy friends talked about. So he took a deep breath and lied through his teeth.

“There’s no one. Not yet, anyway.”

“Are you really getting in shape in order to attract a mate?” There was an odd choke to Eliot’s voice. Quentin lifted one hand to peek at Eliot, but his face was inscrutable and half hidden by the cigarette smoke.

“Something like that.”

“Do you have someone in mind?”

“No. Yes. No.” Quentin hid behind his hands. “It’s… an unlikely thing.” He admitted.

Oh God! What was he _doing_?

“Unlikely? What, are they taken?”

“…Kind of.”

Eliot flicked his half smoked cigarette into the dirt. “Are you… good God Quentin, are you thinking that they’re… what? Too good for you?”

Quentin pressed his hands harder to his face. “It sounds worse when you say it like that.”

“Quentin!” Eliot sounds genuinely distressed.

He stands and shoved his hands in his pockets, shoulders hunched. “Look,” he says not quite looking at Eliot himself. “I know who I am. I know my baggage and my personality. I’m not really a catch. Maybe for someone, but not for others. And I’m pretty sure not for them. It’s just a crush. I’ll get over it.”

“How will you know if you don’t tell them?”

“Sometimes it’s better to let the bear sleep.”

“You don’t believe that.” Eliot was incredulous.

“I’ve done this before,” Quentin said, a little unsteady, “It’ll be better this way. I’m sure,” he ended firmly, interrupting whatever Eliot was going to say. The taller man took a deep breath and stood.

“Well. I can see you’ve made up your mind. Far be it from me to try and change it.”

“Thank you.” Quentin pushed back the soaking strands of his hair.

“Quentin,” Eliot said, reaching out to brush his cheekbone with gentle fingers. “You know you’re gorgeous, don’t you?” His bright eyes were earnest.

He felt like he was going to die.

“Sure. Thanks.” He shrugged it off.

Quentin didn’t know what the look was that passed over Eliot’s face just then, but it went straight to his hind brain and made him want to kill something with his bare hands.

He hated himself for putting it there.

 

*

 

Quentin woke up slowly, head aching.

Margo sat on the bed beside him with a glass of water in one hand and a packet of hangover-away in the other.

“So you’re in love with Eliot, huh?” she said.

“Oh my God, you roofied me. This is how you do it isn’t it? You drug people and make them tell you their secrets.” Quentin rolled away from her and clutched his head. He’d never actually died of embarrassment before, but maybe with the mother of all hangovers on top of it he’d mange this time.

“Hardly. This was much more important that gossip. I had to be sure.” She gripped his shoulder and shook him hard. He groaned at the spike that dug harder into his brain. “Sit up so you can drink.”

“No more drinking. Not ever.” He declared, sitting up slowly to accept the water and the pills. He checked them first, ignoring the way Margo rolled her eyes.

Ten minutes later, when he was feeling much more himself, he finally looked Margo in the eye.

“You’re an idiot,” Margo said serenely.

“Yes, I know. I should know better than to trust a drink you hand to me. It’s like the trials didn’t teach me anything.”

“No. You’re an idiot to think Eliot won’t love you back.”

“Excuse me?”

“Yes. You were very maudlin. It was rather adorable to watch you pine and pout like a maiden over Eliot not liking you back.”

“I did not-”

“He touches you the most, you know.”

“What?”

“Eliot,” Margo clarified unnecessarily, “He touches me because we’re best friends. We bared ourselves to each other during our first year trials, you know.”

The sudden shot of rage at that leaves Quentin reeling.

“Nice glare, tough guy.” Margo pats his hand. “Eliot is standoffish and haughty with everyone, even his friends. It’s always been the touch with him. It’s how he shows affection. And he touches you the most. Constantly, almost, and certainly every time the two of you are in the same room.”

“I’m not even gay!” Quentin blurts out.

Margo lifts an eyebrow. “You still think that means anything at all? It’s just a label.”

Quentin covered his face with his hands.

“Well. I can see you’re not going to be persuaded. I’ll leave you to sulk then.”

The door closes behind her with a small _snick_.

Quentin falls asleep and dreams of a clear pond. In it a man with bright eyes and a cheeky smile waves to invite him in.

 

*

 

In the end it was simple. All Quentin had to do was exactly what he’d been doing all along.

Let Eliot do precisely as he pleased.

 

*

 

The arm came out of nowhere and slung over his shoulder.

Eliot smiled down at him.

“We’re getting drinks, and if you’re up for it, making out. Lord knows I’m up.”

Quentin blinked, once, twice. He closed his gaping mouth and smiled.

“Yeah?” his voice cracked embarrassingly.

“Yeah,” Eliot, suave and bold and foul mouthed, blushed.

Quentin couldn’t help it. He leaned up on tip-toe and pecked Eliot on the mouth. Eliot’s answering grin promised him all sorts of filthy rewards.

**Author's Note:**

> “Fucking finally,” Penny muttered and opened his text book.  
> “You know you’re going to hear them having sex all the time now, right?” Kady pointed out.  
> Penny stopped breathing.  
> “Fuck.”  
> “Yeah. All the time.”


End file.
